


Laced

by twistedly



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:48:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26290627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedly/pseuds/twistedly
Summary: ‘Don’t do that.’ Master’s voice isn’t louder than the highstorm outside. It doesn’t have to be.
Relationships: Kaladin/?
Kudos: 5





	Laced

**Author's Note:**

> I imagined 'Master' to be a gender-neutral term for a dom, so insert whomever you'd like in this role. 
> 
> This is for my real-life Kaladin, who introduced me to the Cosmere and puts up with my endless elementary questions about it. They are the best.

‘Don’t do that.’ Master’s voice isn’t louder than the highstorm outside. It doesn’t have to be. 

Inside the room with its heavy stone walls, which he suspects sometimes are as thick as he is tall, Kaladin kneels on a warm rug in front of a fire that he can’t see—there are two thin ropes secured over his eyes and knotted at the back of his head.

(Syl isn’t here. The part of his mind reserved for her thinks of her outside, willingly buffeted by the storm, carried further and further away from him until she’s not even a speck in the distance.)

‘Kaladin,’ the voice says again, a little sharper this time. The bite to it, and the use of his name, slice through him, mildly painful. That is not the name Master uses to convey approval.

‘Sorry,’ he says. He doesn’t know why he’s saying it. He knows he doesn’t mean it.

‘Don’t,’ Master says again. ‘Do not apologize unless you know what it’s for.’

What is it for? Kaladin’s wrists twist against each other, pinned in their ropes at the small of his back. His fingers move restlessly, as though signaling for something he hasn’t yet learned how to ask for.

Master’s fingers glide briefly over his. A thumb, reassuringly callused, strokes over his knuckles.

His fingers. Ah.

They’ve done this before, and now, Master does it again. Soon, Kaladin’s fingers are laced securely against each other, a thin, intricate network of ropes weaving around them, as though gloving them in safety. Both his hands are safehands now, useless and protected.

‘Better?’ Master asks.

Kaladin breathes out a bit of a laugh.

‘I asked you a question.’

He scrunches up his bare toes against the rug. His ankles are bound too, his big toes lashed together with thin cord. He’s come to love the feeling of the rope in the tiny valleys between his toes. ‘Yes. Master. I’m better now.’

He’s rewarded with a hand caressing his cheek, fingers stroking up the side of his face, brushing his hair away from his forehead. Baring his glyph.

He inhales quickly, holding his breath.

‘Relax.’

It feels like an order, so he obeys.

Master settles into the chair in front of Kaladin’s kneeling form. The hand on Kaladin’s head never leaves, fingers eventually sliding up into his hair, rubbing against his scalp. 

‘Good slave,’ Master says. 

(Syl isn’t gone at all. She’s right outside, playing in the storm, just a windspren for now, as she’d been so long ago, right outside.) 

He releases his breath and inhales again, slow, allowing Master’s hand in his hair to tangle in the long strands and make a fist, guiding his head back, tilting his face up for a kiss.


End file.
